


Polar Coordinates

by d2fmeasurement



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d2fmeasurement/pseuds/d2fmeasurement
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilfoyle takes Dinesh home for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polar Coordinates

Dinesh was looking through the fridge when Gilfoyle walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around him. He turned around, curious about the affection.

 

“I just got off the phone with my parents,” Gilfoyle informed him.

 

“Oh,” Dinesh said, not sure what he was supposed to say.

 

“Yeah. You don’t have any plans for the week of Christmas, right?”

 

“Um, no…” Dinesh said.

 

“Perfect. You can come to Toronto with me.”

 

“Was that supposed to be a question?” Dinesh asked.

 

“No. If I’m spending a week in that frozen hell hole, I at least need one bearable person there.” Gilfoyle started walking away.

 

Dinesh followed him. “Technically, wouldn’t you think a place being a hell hole is a good thing?”

 

Gilfoyle sighed. “Fuck. You’re right. I’m so upset it’s affecting my semantics.” He shook his head a little and walked off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Gilfoyle’s parents?” Erlich asked.

 

“Yup,” Dinesh said. They were sitting by the pool, taking a break from work.

 

“Fuck, man. Like the people who created Gilfoyle?”

 

Dinesh nodded.

 

“Do you think Christmas dinner is just going to be a human virgin?” Erlich asked.

 

Dinesh cringed and wondered if it would be possible to back out of this. But, he knew Gilfoyle really seemed to need him and he wasn’t going to just abandon him.

 

 

 

 

When they stepped out of the airport, Dinesh groaned as the wind hit him. “Fuck,” he said. He glared at Gilfoyle and said, “Thank you so much for dragging me out of California to bring me here.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Gilfoyle said dryly as he hailed a cab.

 

When they were inside the cab, Gilfoyle rubbed his hands on Dinesh’s ears and nuzzled his face against his nose.

 

“What are you doing?” Dinesh asked him.

 

“Trying to help you warm up,” Gilfoyle said.

 

“…that’s nice of you.”

 

Gilfoyle frowned and said, “Hey, don’t act like I’m never nice.” He pulled Dinesh’s face against him and petted his hair. “So, just to warn you, my parents are terrible people.”

 

“Terrible how?” he asked, thinking about Erlich’s vision of a family ritual sacrifice.

 

“In every conceivable way,” Gilfoyle said with a sigh as the cab pulled up to a nice suburban house.

 

 

 

 

 

“Hi, Bertram, how’re–” Mrs. Gilfoyle stopped in the middle of going in to hug Gilfoyle. She and her husband were both staring at Dinesh.

 

He looked around uncomfortably, wondering what he could’ve possibly done wrong already. He thought maybe Gilfoyle’s parents were the kind of weirdos who really care about taking your shoes off as soon as you come in.

 

Since no one else was breaking the silence, he said, “Hi. I’m Dinesh. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

“Who is this?” Mrs. Gilfoyle asked her son with confusion.

 

“This is the significant other I told you about,” Gilfoyle said.

 

She stared at him and said, “He’s a man.”

 

Dinesh turned to Gilfoyle with disbelief. “You didn’t warn them that I’m a man?”

 

“If I’d told them, they might have not wanted you to come,” Gilfoyle said.

 

Dinesh had to fight off the urge to slap Gilfoyle in front of his parents.

 

Mrs. Gilfoyle snapped into polite hostess mode. “Oh. Well…what did you say your name was?”

 

“Dinesh,” he said.

 

“Dinesh. Come in. Dinner is ready.”

 

Dinesh self-consciously walked in and took a seat. Mrs. Gilfoyle busied herself with dinner while her husband openly stared at Dinesh.

 

“Do I even want to know how you two met?” Mr. Gilfoyle asked.

 

“It’s nothing seedy,” Dinesh assured him. “We work together.”

 

“So, you also work at the company that will supposedly make you money someday but currently has you on reduced salary and sharing a house with three other grown men?”

 

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Having shares in Pied Piper is actually very valuable.”

 

“Yeah, they won that contest, remember?” Mrs. Gilfoyle said as she finished serving everyone. “I showed you that article on it.”

 

“Well, winning contests isn’t the same as having a real job,” Mr. Gilfoyle said.

 

“I printed out the article on your contest and put it on the refrigerator,” Mrs. Gilfoyle informed her son.

 

“That’s really sweet,” Dinesh said. She looked at him with surprise and then beamed at him.

 

“…where are you from, Dinesh?” Mr. Gilfoyle asked.

 

Dinesh cringed at the familiar question. “I’ve lived in Palo Alto for a very long time and before that I went to MIT,” he told him. He saw Mr. Gilfoyle waiting for the real answer, so he added, “But I grew up in Islamabad, which is in Pakistan.”

 

Mr. Gilfoyle stared at him. “Like Borat?”

 

“No…Borat was from Kazakhstan, actually.”

 

“You know about Pakistan, sweetie,” Mrs. Gilfoyle said. “A lot of Muslims are from there, right?”

 

Dinesh nodded.

 

“Are you?” she asked him nervously.

 

“Muslim?” he asked. “Not really anymore.”

 

“Are you…” she asked hesitantly. “You know…”

 

Dinesh looked at her, genuinely clueless.

 

“Do you go to Bertram’s church?” she asked him, cringing. He looked at Gilfoyle, wondering if he’d told his parents what his actual religion is. His mom answered that question by adding, “The…you know…the Church of S-A-T-A-N?”

 

“No, I don’t,” Dinesh said. “I’m definitely not part of that.” He turned to Gilfoyle and asked, “You told your parents you’re a Satanist? I lie to my parents about how often I go to the dentist.”

 

“Yes…I suppose we should appreciate Bertram’s honesty…” Mrs. Gilfoyle said. “Even if we don’t agree with his beliefs.” She looked at Dinesh and asked, “So, you’re just…nothing? I mean, you believe in nothing?”

 

“I guess,” he said uncomfortably.

 

She smiled at him warmly and asked, "Have you considered Christianity?"

 

“Mom. You’re not going to convert my boyfriend during a holiday visit.”

 

“It is the season to think about Jesus,” she pointed out. She gave Dinesh her friendliest smile and said, “I can’t help but fret, you know. Bertram doesn’t bring people home to meet us very often. I’d like to know about you and…how you might raise our grandchildren…”

 

Dinesh’s eyes widened a little. “Oh, we’re not…” He trailed off. He wanted to say that he and Gilfoyle weren’t that serious even though they did already live together and he couldn’t actually imagine them breaking up any time soon.

 

“Honey, he’s not going to marry Borat. He’s just trying to shock us,” Mr. Gilfoyle said.

 

“Excuse me?” Dinesh asked, frowning at him.

 

“Clearly, he realized the girls with the tattoos and piercings and shaved heads aren’t going to give you a heart attack anymore, so he found some Arab man to bring home.”

 

Dinesh had no idea what to say. He felt Gilfoyle gripping his leg under the table. “Dad, I brought Dinesh home with me because I love him. And even though we’re not going to get married and have kids in the near future, mom, he’s a big part of my life and…all that’s probably going to happen someday. But, again, not soon, mom.”

 

Mrs. Gilfoyle looked at her son and softly said, “I’m very glad you’ve met someone who makes you happy. I know you were unhappy for a long time and if Dinesh is changing that, then I love him too.” She turned to Dinesh and asked, “Would you like some dessert?”

 

Dinesh just nodded, feeling overwhelmed by this entire situation. He watched as Mrs. Gilfoyle went up to get him dessert.

 

Mr. Gilfoyle told Dinesh, “Well, regardless of what she just said, we don’t believe in homosexuality. We’ve always made that pretty clear to Bertram but God forbid he actually listen to us.”

 

“Homosexuality is kind of one of those things that exists whether you believe in it or not,” Gilfoyle informed him. “It’s everywhere. Including in your son’s asshole. A lot.”

 

Dinesh uncomfortably murmured, “It’s not that much.”

 

“He’s lying. We fuck every day,” Gilfoyle said.

 

Mrs. Gilfoyle strained to smile as she spooned pudding onto Dinesh’s plate. “Dinesh, how do you deal with Bertram’s sense of humor? He must be such a handful.”

 

Dinesh looked at the heaping pile of pudding on his plate and said, “That’s enough. Thank you.”

 

“Right. Of course,” she said. She started serving Gilfoyle.

 

“And I know what you mean. He can be, um…a little insensitive. But I know he loves me and he cares about me…I think he’s not always great at showing people that he cares but he does.”

 

“You guys are talking about me while I’m sitting right here and yet you think I’m the rude one,” Gilfoyle said. Dinesh could see the betrayal in his eyes.

 

“Sorry,” Dinesh said, putting his hand on top of Gilfoyle’s on his leg.

 

“I have a fun idea,” Mrs. Gilfoyle said. “Let’s look at the photo album. Dinesh, you’ll die when you see how cute Bertram was as a little baby. I bet it’ll make you want one of your own.”

 

“Uh, yeah, we can look at photo albums,” Dinesh said. He was starting to feel like if he and Gilfoyle didn’t have children soon, his mom might start kidnapping random babies and mailing them to their house.

 

“I’m going to go watch the game,” Mr. Gilfoyle said, stepping away from the table. He looked at Gilfoyle and said, “Congratulations on finding a new and creative way to upset us.”

 

As Mrs. Gilfoyle searched the shelves for her photo album, she tensely called out, “No one is upset.”

 

Dinesh looked at Mr. Gilfoyle’s plate, which he’d left sitting there when he’d gone into the living room. “Do you want me to help you clear the table?” he asked Mrs. Gilfoyle.

 

She grinned and said, “That’s so sweet, Dinesh. It’s alright. You’re our guest. I’ll clear the table real quick and then we can look at all these adorable pictures.”

 

When she was in the kitchen with the dishes, Gilfoyle turned to Dinesh and said, “You can never tell any of our friends what you’re about to see.”

 

“How bad could it be? They’re just childhood photos…” Dinesh said.

 

“Promise me,” Gilfoyle insisted.

 

“Fine. I won’t tell anyone what’s in your photo albums.”

 

Mrs. Gilfoyle came back and opened up the photo album. “Here he is as a sweet little baby. My only precious little baby.”

 

“Cute,” Dinesh said.

 

She kept flipping pages and said, “Look at all these things he won. Spelling bee, geography bee, mathletes, debate.”

 

Dinesh smiled affectionately at Gilfoyle and murmured, “Nerd.”

 

She turned another page and said, “Here’s his pee-wee hockey team after they won Nationals. I was so proud of him.”

 

Dinesh’s jaw dropped. “Gilfoyle did sports?”

 

“Yes, he loved hockey,” she told Dinesh.

 

“I did not,” Gilfoyle murmured.

 

“I’m shocked. Not a lot of people in our line of work are remotely good at anything involving a ball.”

 

“Actually, sweetie, there’s no ball in hockey,” she told him gently. “And Bertram was good at everything. Weren’t you, sweetie?” She turned to Dinesh and said, “He was such a perfect child.”

 

“Yeah, except for the panic attacks and the ulcers,” Gilfoyle said quietly.

 

“He’s exaggerating,” Mrs. Gilfoyle assured Dinesh.

 

Dinesh noticed they’d already reached the end of the photo album. “Where are all the high school photos?” he asked. He was eager to see if there’d been an awkward stage between Gilfoyle as a cute kid and his current handsome, confident adult self. He’d be pretty pissed if Gilfoyle was a genius at digital system architecture and hadn’t been hideous at some point in his life. 

 

“Oh well…” Mrs. Gilfoyle said. “In high school, Bertram started wearing t-shirts for bands with lude names and getting tattoos and piercings and dying his hair so, we figured it was silly to pay for school photos if he wasn’t going to–”

 

“Be a good robot?” Gilfoyle finished for her.

 

“I was going to say, take photo day seriously.”

 

“Right. Because what could be more important than looking respectable in a photo?” Gilfoyle asked.

 

She frowned at him and then told Dinesh, “He sabotaged all of his photos! In one of them he was holding up one finger. I think you can guess which one I mean.”

 

“Was it this one?” Gilfoyle asked her as he flipped her off.

 

His mom let out a loud, scandalized scoff.

 

“Are you upsetting your mother?” Mr. Gilfoyle called from the other room.

 

“It’s alright,” Mrs. Gilfoyle called back. “He’s just being himself.” She closed the photo album and told Dinesh, “When you two do have kids, you should have more than one.”

 

“In case one is a complete disappointment, right?” Gilfoyle asked.

 

“It would just be a little easier to deal with your…uniqueness if you weren’t my only child,” she murmured.

 

“Sorry I’m so hard to deal with,” he said, rolling his eyes.

 

“You know, I wish that wasn’t sarcasm because you are hard to deal with! I still love you, which a lot of mothers wouldn’t by the way, but it’s hard to know everytime I see you there’ll be a fight and that I always have to pray extra hard for you, I’m so worried about you ending up in H-E-L-L!”

 

“There is no H-E-L-L, mom, but if there was, I’d be delighted to go there as long as you’re not there.”

 

“Dinner was great,” Dinesh told her. “I always thought rice pudding sounded disgusting when it was described to me, but it’s delicious. At least when you make it.”

 

“Thank you,” Mrs. Gilfoyle said. “You’re very sweet, Dinesh.”

 

“Well, dinner is over, I think we’re going to go to bed,” Gilfoyle said, taking Dinesh’s hand and pulling him out of the room.

 

“Thanks again for dinner and for having me!” Dinesh said to Mrs. Gilfoyle as he let Gilfoyle pull him out of the room.

 

When they walked through the living room, Mr. Gilfoyle momentarily looked away from the hockey game so he could say, “Your mother made up the guest room with fresh sheets so your friend can sleep there.”

 

“My boyfriend is fine sleeping in my room,” Gilfoyle said as he led Dinesh out.

 

They walked into Gilfoyle’s room, which was still just as he’d left it, with books on every surface and posters for punk bands all over the walls.

 

Dinesh tried to think of what to say and finally came up with, “Descendents, huh? That’s a good band.”

 

“Do you actually know anything about Descendents?” Gilfoyle asked him.

 

Dinesh shook his head and murmured, "Fine. Bluff called. I don't know what to say right now."

 

Gilfoyle rested his head on Dinesh’s chest. Dinesh got seriously freaked out at how vulnerable Gilfoyle was acting but he hesitantly started stroking Gilfoyle’s hair.

 

They sat like that in silence for a while before Gilfoyle asked, “Dinesh?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I know I’m a huge asshole to everyone and my mom’s a sweet old lady or whatever. And I know everything she’s done to make me hate her is some small thing that doesn’t sound like anything when I actually try to describe it to people…But can you please, as my boyfriend who I love, not tell me that I’m an ungrateful asshole and she’s just such a nice person?”

 

Dinesh frowned. “I wasn’t going to do that,” he said. Dinesh knew how hard to live with Gilfoyle could be. He was completely familiar with all the little ways he could make you feel like he enjoyed your suffering. But, he said, “I think that everything you and your mom have been through sounds really complicated and I’m not going to pretend that I don’t have any sympathy for her, but at the end of the day I’m always on your side.”

 

“Yeah?” Gilfoyle asked, clinging harder to Dinesh.

 

“I have your back, man. You’re my best friend…and I love you.”

 

Gilfoyle grinned. “I knew you loved me. Why’d it take you so long to say it, cocksucker?” He happily kissed Dinesh, who lovingly kissed back.

 

“Did you mean it when you said that we’ll settle down and have kids some day?” Dinesh asked him.

 

He shrugged. “Only if you want them. I don’t want them enough to be with anyone who’s not you.”

  
Dinesh pulled Gilfoyle close. He felt warm and giddy, thinking about how he and Gilfoyle were in love and he’d found the only person he’d ever need.

 

“But, if we do have kids, we can never tell her about them,” Gilfoyle said. “It would make her too happy.”


End file.
